


Where Death Stands Behind Does the Saga Begin

by Gattoartico, gaymedievaldruid



Series: Gatto’s Oneshot Shop of Horrors [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Welsh Mythology
Genre: Angau is technically Welsh Thanatos, Arawn being a dad, Butchering Welsh Mythology, Gen, Harry with actual parental figures?, I apologize in advance for what is coming, I’m not even pretending anymore, More likely than you think!, To the wizarding world we go, Ychydig Meistr verse, but Angau is never named, so gmd gave them one, this is the biiig starting point, this time entirely without subtlety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gattoartico/pseuds/Gattoartico, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymedievaldruid/pseuds/gaymedievaldruid
Summary: Harry’s letters to Hogwarts have been flooding the Dursleys. Trapped on an island Harry awaits the Hogwarts teacher that is his guide. Not quite what he expected, but welcome all the same.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Amatheon(Welsh Mythology), Harry Potter & Arawn(Mabinogion), Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter
Series: Gatto’s Oneshot Shop of Horrors [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145099
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So before you read I have a couple things to say, as of posting this first chapter, gmd and I are still working on the last two chapters. So originally this was supposed to be three chapters but it’s decided it gets four. Might even be five before the end honestly. 
> 
> Other news: gmd, or gaymedievaldruid, has been promoted to cowriter. Without their brilliant contributions this series wouldn’t be even half of what it is now. So big thanks to them for helping make this late night idea of mine into a thing. 
> 
> I am aware I missed last week’s update slot, I do apologize for that. To make up for that this work has gotten bigger and better. So the next several update slots will be this one. I have a rough schedule of installments planned, that stretches all the way into April. So lots more to come. 
> 
> Off you go! See you next week!

Just off the coast of the isles was a tiny spit of rock rising from the sea. Upon it perched a small shack. Within this shack slept the small Dursley family of three. At the same time however, the small form of Harry Potter sat reading by the flickering light of the fire. Vernon had not given him enough time to grab much from the cupboard, but he had managed to snag the book he had started the night before. A silence fell around Harry. The thunderous snores of both his Uncle and Cousin vanishing.

“The Book of Taliesin. A fascinating read indeed, Harry. I remember when the first words were written for it.” A mother cat’s purr, a father calling his children, a bird warming its eggs. Harry looked up to be greeted by orange eyes burning with warmth.

“Hi Arawn!” he chirped. “I hope Uncle moving us around so quickly didn’t make it harder for you to find me.” 

“Never Harry, I will always be able to find you. Distance means nothing to me.” It said, a pale hand gently cupping Harry’s face. He closed his eyes and leaned into its touch, savoring the feeling of the god’s magic. It’s power felt like a heavy cloak laid across his shoulders, like the warmth of a loving parent, while he could taste the familiar spice of its darkness on his tongue. Over the last several months Harry had quickly learned Arawn was a very dark god. Its power revelled in the night, held sway over things better left unspoken, and dared to bring death itself to heel. 

“I brought you a gift. Happy Birthday.” The sound of paper tearing, the excitement of children, a parent’s pride. Harry opened his eyes. In Arawn’s other hand was a long branching piece of a pale material. To Harry’s eyes it almost looked like wood. A smile too sharp and too large graced Arawn’s face. “It is not wood, fy mach i."

“Then what is it?” Harry queried, his head tilted to the side. He reached out and took it from Arawn. It was smooth to the touch, the branching points blunt. He ran a hand across its surface, feeling the hum of magic within. Magic that felt almost weightless, it bore a feeling of luck and of warning. The material was saturated in light magic, far more so than Harry had ever been close to.

“It is a piece of the Antlers of the White Stag. I took it from his rack myself. A long hunt to be sure, difficult and treacherous. In the end my hounds were victorious.” There was a pride in Arawn’s voice, the barest traces of the joy of a skilled hunter at the capture of their prey. It leaned forward, placing a hand on Harry’s own. “Do you still carry my feather?”

Harry looked up from the antler. “Yeah,” he pulled it from under his oversized shirt, a thin cord holding the burning feather around his neck. “Why?”

Arawn nodded, sitting back. “Keep both upon your person. You will find use from them in the day. Do not, however, permit your guide to know of them.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised , as he pulled a small pouch from his pocket. He opened it and slid the entire antler inside, Arawn having gifted him the bottomless pouch two months prior. He looked back at Arawn only to find himself alone, the sound of his cousin’s snores resuming. He frowned, saddened by the quick disappearance of the god. It didn’t surprise Harry though, the brothers often popped in for very short amounts of time, only to disappear just as quick.

Harry put the pouch back in his pocket so he could return to his book, only to be interrupted by a thunderous crash. At first it sounded like thunder, by the third boom Harry realized something was knocking on the door. Each strike shook the small shack, dust raining from the rafters. Vernon appeared across the room from the door, a rifle in his hands and Petunia clutching his sleeve. Dudley loudly snorted and fell off the couch, groggily asking what was happening. Harry waited patiently.

“You better leave off now! I’m armed!” Vernon cried, his meaty fists clinging to the gun like it was a lifeline. Harry simply watched, when the Hogwarts letters had started coming Arawn had made sure one found its way into the cupboard. The god had also explained that without his response the school was likely to send a teacher to escort him. Which one he didn’t know but he figured whoever was trying to knock the door down was the teacher. With one last boom the door shuddered and fell inwards, the old hinges and rotting wood finally giving out. A crack of thunder illuminated the towering silhouette standing outside. Vernon, in his terror, pulled the trigger. A sharp crack sounded as wood fragments from the wall flew. The figure glanced at the hole in the wall, nonplussed, and stepped inside, stooping low to fit in the doorway. By the low firelight, did Harry finally get his first look at a wizard.

The man stood tall, easily towering over Vernon and even the nearly skeletal wraith that was Petunia Dursley. His bushy beard rested upon his belt buckle, the wild mane of dark hair obscuring his small, beetle black eyes, giving the impression of a massive lion or a wild man of american legend. His vast frame made the already tiny shack feel even smaller. Harry wasn’t completely impressed by the man. Sure, he was big and intimidating, a little too similar to Vernon in stature to be honest. Rather it was the bright pink umbrella clutched in the giant man’s hand that did him in. Also the booming apology in a brutally thick accent that marred his words as he righted the fallen door. 

The man had barely even gotten the door to rest properly when Vernon had reloaded the rifle and pointed it at the giant. “You need to leave! I will not have such freakishness near my family!”

The man turned and grasped the rifle, easily bending the barrel into a useless curve. “Shut it ya great lump! I’m 'ere to deliver Harry’s Hogwarts letter!” he boomed, his deep voice and thick accent making it difficult to discern his words. Though Harry felt it could have been harder had he not spent almost ten months talking with a being that had a voice made of a riot of background noise. Listening to Arawn try to pronounce "bacon" was very amusing .

Dudley let out a small squeak when the rifle was bent, drawing the eyes of the man. “This one your’s, Dursley? He looks a lil plump.” 

Harry couldn’t help himself. A small snort of laughter escaped his lips, as the giant turned his gaze onto him. “Now you must be ‘Arry, right spittin image of yer Da! With yer Mum’s eyes for sure,” the giant softly said, well as softly as a man with lungs as powerful as his could. 

“I’m Harry, yeah. Who’re you?” Harry said, a very tiny grin on his lips. The giant brightened and stood taller, his chest puffed out with pride.

“The name’s Hagrid! Keeper of Keys and Groundskeeper of Hogwarts! I ‘spect you know all about Hogwarts though.”

Vernon chose that time to intervene yet again. “No! I absolutely refuse! We will not be sending him to that school for freaks! When we took him in we promised we’d stamp the magic out of him!”

“You knew I had magic this entire time and never told me?” Harry cried, indignation in his voice. He already knew they did but he figured stirring the pot a little would amuse him. Hagrid seemed to be easily riled. At least he hoped. Sure enough Hagrid whirled on the Dursleys, an apoplectic look on his face, eyes stormy. 

“What does he mean ‘you never told 'im’?” he thundered.

Petunia spoke up then, her reedy voice filled with contempt. “Know? Of course we knew! How couldn’t we, with my perfect freak of a sister and her perfect freak of a husband. Going off to that freakish school and getting herself killed by another freak.”

“You told me they died in a car crash!” Honestly, he deserved an Oscar for his acting skills.

“Lily an' James Potter! Killed by a muggle car crash? An outrage! A scandal!” Hagrid shouted, a rage present in his voice that Harry hadn’t thought him capable of. 

Petunia seemed to grow a spine then, a cold steel to her that Harry had never seen in the gaunt woman. “Would you rather I have told the boy the truth? That his parents were murdered by a madman? That despite all the protections they had, it wasn’t enough? Would you rather I make him hate your world and continue to pollute mine with his freakishness? Better they die by our means, so he’ll leave when he can and disappear into your freakishly mad world. Better he leave so I no longer have to look at the last remnants of my sister.” 

Her words were scathing, spoken with the venom of a woman who had spent far too long dwelling on bad memories. Petunia was by all rights a vile woman, yet somehow, somehow, she showed a bitter logic to herself. It shocked Harry to catch this small glimpse into his Aunt’s mind. It did not change his opinion of her however, only garner the smallest amounts of pity from him. Amatheon had taught Harry pity is a weapon as sharp as a knife. As deadly as the claws of a dragon that carried galaxies upon its back.

“He’ll still be going to Hogwarts. His parents put 'im down for it since his birth, nothing you can do to stop ‘em.” Hagrid said steadily, but not without a slight uncertainty to his tone, barely even a trace of it. Just enough that Harry knew Petunia had unsettled the giant man. Petunia's twisted expression soured, tugging slightly on Vernon's arm to pull him back. 

"So!" Hagrid cheered after a beat. "Harry! It's yeh birthday today now, isn't it? I got summin' for you, might've sat on it on the way over, hold on…" He moved aside several thick layers of coats, rifling through a number of pockets before pulling out a battered white box. Clearly the box couldn't have fit in the pocket, leading Harry to assume it had some sort of extension spell placed on it, which made him wonder why he needed so many pockets in the first place. Maybe they'd get lost in one pocket? Harry hardly had enough in his pouch to not be able to find anything, but perhaps that would change when he got more things.

Hagrid passed him the box, and he flipped the lid open, revealing a crumbly sponge with a dollop of chocolate spread covering the top, and some Strawberry Laces arranged over to spell "Happy Birthday Harry!" Harry wondered if they were a magical version of if Hagrid had actually gone to a Muggle supermarket to buy Strawberry Laces. Then they changed colour and he didn't wonder any more.

"Happy birthday," Hagrid repeated, grand but still soft. Harry bit his lip as he reached forward, forehead scrunched slightly, and his fingers refused to touch the lumpy chocolate icing. 

"It's-" he halted, lost. Hagrid didn't know him. Arawn had at least talked to him before It had given him the book, but Hagrid didn't know him. He didn't know anything about him.

And he gave something to Harry, just like that. 

He felt his heart spark, warmth lapping through his chest in the same deep golden place that Arawn had. He began to cry.

Vernon huffed disapprovingly in the background as Hagrid thudded to his knees in front of Harry, hands hovering at his side's before they gently prised the box from his grip and pulled him into a crushing hug. Harry choked as his thin, pale hands clung to the fabric like a lifeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count has risen, this is really lore heavy I think. Establishes parts of the canon for this verse, builds up new stuff and brings other things out to play. Outside of that I don’t have much to say but I do apologize for posting it late.
> 
> See Y’all next week then.

The magical world wasn't anything like he'd imagined when he read about it. It was so much more _alive_ than his mind could ever conjure up, the plain text of the book never being able to capture the magic practically soaking every crevice. And Harry had never seen so many people in one place.

The Dursleys went into London often, and Dudley never failed to jump up and down on the stairs and shiek about how _massive_ everything was. But this was so much more real, as people slipped past one another in liquid pods, talking and laughing and arguing and calling and crying. The feather under his shirt flared slightly at the sheer _life_ around him.

It flared like that, too, when Harry and Hagrid rode back to the mainland on Hagrid's Thestral, Harry remembered they were called. The two of them had left the shack early that morning with little ceremony aside from an owl coming to deliver the morning paper that really wasn't a fan of him. Outside, Hagrid glanced to the side very quickly, before attempting to steer Harry down to the boat. Harry however followed his gaze to see a skeletal black horse, with leathery bat wings and a fiery glint to its eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks to stare.

"Woah." He shuffled out of Hagrid's light grip and stepped towards the horse. "Hello! You're so cool!"

The horse regarded him with surprise and a certain degree of wary curiosity, before it leant it's head down and pressed the side of it's head to Harry's cheek.

"Yes, hello!" He laughed, and the horse blinked, pushing at him with its head. "How did you get here, hmm? Oh," he realised as its wings twitched. "Stupid question. Hey, Hagrid-!"

The giant was looking at him in shock, and no little sadness. He let out a breath that sounded a bit like _”Lily"_ and came over. He nodded once to the horse, and it tipped his head forwards once in return, before continuing to nudge Hardy around. "This," Hagrid had began, his voice lacking a little of its usual enthusiasm, "is called a Thestral, Harry. They're proud creatures, and not too f- nevermind. Now-" here he let out a sad sigh. "They only appear to those who've seen death, Harry. Do you-" Hagrid stumbled over himself, and Harry wisely kept his mouth shut. Arawn had once explained, and only once, what the title he and Amatheon had given him, "Ychydig Meistr", meant. Master of Death.

"I know what death is, Hagrid," Harry had to say in order to save Hagrid from his fumbling. The look he was shot seemed grateful for the milliseconds that he saw it, before being aggressively pulled once again but the Thestral, who ordered him (Harry didn't _quite_ know how but he knew enough to understand) to stay there while it shuffled into place and flexed it's wings, which were far larger than Harry had first assumed. It rolled its head and huffed in a way that he somehow read as _come here_ , but not quite that.

Oh, he realised, and braced his hands against the Thestral's back, pulling himself up. The Thestral's hoof scraped at the earth in a tapping rhythm, obviously impatient. It was still waiting for Hagrid to mount as well, and barely let the two of them hang on before dipping it's great wings into a wide spread, and cantering towards the edge of the island, shoving Harry forward to curl his arms around it's neck, pressing the flaming feather against his heart. The wind bit as the horse leapt and Harry felt his stomach rise, weightless, before catching the wind and galloping towards the mainland, but he was warm.

"Righ," Hagrid said now, picking his way through the crowd with ease but obvious caution. "First stop, Gringotts.”

The odd pair made their way through the busy street, passing oddly dressed people, and children fawning over things in shop windows. Harry caught sight of an ice cream parlor to one side, an apothecary and bookstore on another. As they walked he could feel the touch of wixen magic, it was soft, like a fuzzy blanket. The magic felt a little too light for Harry’s liking. 

It was a sudden spike of weight that caught Harry’s attention. A narrow, dark alley diverged from the main. He could feel the darkness within, heavy and spicy to the senses. Whatever was in that alley was certainly more appealing. Hagrid seemed to have caught the direction of his gaze and placed a large hand on his shoulder. “That’s Knockturn Alley. I wouldn’t be caught dead in there if I was you, lotta of dark wizards in there. A nasty place indeed.”

Harry simply smiled, “Don’t worry Hagrid I definitely won’t be seen going down there.” The large man seemed to accept this, he nodded with a small grunt as he guided Harry up marble steps.

So engrossed with the darkness of Knockturn, somehow Harry had missed the approach to Gringotts. Turning to look ahead he felt the air leave his lungs in a silent rush. Before him stood a towering edifice of pure white stone, golden letters proclaiming Gringotts for all Diagon to see. Massive doors of burnished copper were set in the center, guarded by two short beings holding dangerous looking pikes.

“Those there be goblins Harry,” Hagrid somewhat helpfully supplied. Harry studied the goblins for a few moments before he let himself be lost in studying the building. Well, not so much the building as the magic that radiated out from it. So different from all other forms of magic Hardy had ever felt. Wixen magic was solid and light, like a quilt,while the magic of Amatheon and Arawn was heavy and otherworldly. This magic felt old. Not as old as the two gods, but older than the magic of the wix. It left the heavy tang of metals upon Harry’s tongue, all while the magic sang. He knew if he had the time to listen the magic would tell him what spells it was made of, the words used to build it. What little snippets he did catch however, sang of an ancient pride, a worn but still loved glory. He heard short stanzas speaking of great deeds of bygone heroes, the legends of long dead kings.

It would take a fool to not notice this was the magic of goblins. Amatheon had been the one to tell him of the goblins, a once mighty warrior race, long subjugated by the Ministry. It had mentioned with a grin that its name was still spoken by the species within their language. Often as a curse but a god still honored.

Harry shook his head and refocused on the world around him, Hagrid still leading him up the steps. It was when they walked through the doors did Harry feel a secondary layer to the magic. This one cleverly hidden but far stronger. He felt rage. A burning, well stoked rage. The hate and fury of a peoples long oppressed simmering quietly under the surface. It seemed to target every wix that entered, urging them to finish their business quickly and leave. It touched Hagrid and did the same, albeit a little hesitantly. Yet when it brushed upon Harry, he felt the magic recoil for a moment, before it rushed back in and gave the impression of purring like a contented cat. Whatever the magic was, it at least liked him, Harry supposed.

So focused on the magic that Harry didn’t even notice the words upon the inner door or the short walk to the teller. He did however notice when the goblin looked at him. The diminutive being studied him for a few moments before turning to Hagrid. “And does Heir Potter have his key?” The goblin sneered, a look of thoughtfulness within its eyes. 

Hagrid started patting his many pockets, pulling out dog biscuits and old newspapers. “It’s in ‘ere somewhere I’m sure! Dumbledore ‘imself entrusted it to me.” he mumbled to himself. It was barely a few seconds later that he found it. He placed it down a little too hard Harry thought, but then again, Hagrid was a very large man. “I also got a letter from ‘fessor Dumbldore as well, I’m here for the You-Know-What in Vault You-Know-Which.”

The goblin simply curled his upper lip in thinly veiled disgust at Hagrid. “Griphook will take you to the Vaults. Heir Potter however will be expected in the office of Manager Diamondfang after. There is a sizeable number of things that he must take care of.”

Hagrid seemed almost uneasy at this, “Dumbledore told me Harry is just supposed to get his school things today.” 

“Regardless of what your orders from the Chief Warlock are, Heir Potter is summoned before Manager Diamondfang at the earliest possible convenience.” The goblin repeated, his eyes turning very cold, very fast. Harry felt this was as good a time as any to speak up.

“It’s okay Hagrid, whatever the Manager needs to speak with me about is probably important. We can certainly be out shopping for a little longer. The crowds will have probably left by then too!” He said, putting some excitement into his voice at the end to hopefully sell his desire to not have to deal with too many people. Hagrid seemed to think for a moment before assenting. The goblin nodded and summoned a runner over to take them down to the vaults.

-

The vaults were an interesting thing. A narrow track clinging to the side of a sheer cavern wall, pitch black all around save for tiny pinpricks of light that illuminated vault doors. The ride was quick and it was rough. Harry loved every second of it.

It was when the goblin opened his vault however, that truly made it amazing. Behind the large circular door was a decent sized room, one filled to the brim with piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins. The stacks glinting in the torchlight. Directly before the coins however sat a small table. Laying atop the table was a stack of three books, each written in languages that bled animosity and bitterness. While set out neatly, the silver chain arranged about the pendant tenderly, was a necklace. The pendant was of a rose clutched in the mouth of a skull, glittering emeralds for eyes. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat looking at it. Arawn had gifted him the antler, it seems Amatheon had given him a gift as well. 

The goblin's eyes narrowed in suspicion at the gift, glancing between it and Harry before it's eyes widened the smallest amount, and a wall of neutrality slammed down. Harry quickly glanced at Hagrid to make sure he didn't spot the books and pendant and, following his gaze, the goblin slipped over to harass him, allowing Harry to stuff the books in his bottomless bag, and the pendant in his pouch along with the White Stag antler. On top of the books, he noisily piled a couple handfuls of gold, toying with one experimentally. Engraved into the disk was a simple depiction of Gringotts Bank from the front, and around that, numbers, presumably serial codes. Harry dropped it into the bag and checked his school list. He had no idea how much anything cost here, even if he had an estimated value from the book about the Wizarding World Arawn gave him. 

Hagrid looked ill as they shuddered to an abrupt stop in front of Vault 713, and the goblin glanced at him surreptitiously as Hagrid steeled his expression to face the Vault, blocking Harry's view of the contents so all he could make out was little more than a palm-sized package wrapped in packing paper.

They returned to the surface uneventfully. Hagrid was definitely green, and excused himself to the Leaky Cauldron as Harry stopped to wait for instructions from Manager Diamondfang. He didn’t have to wait for very long. A goblin pulled him to the side and led him down a back corridor with doors set suspiciously close together along its length. Harry could hear the singing of magic within, snippets of speech, it sang of dungeons deep and caverns old. Near the end of the hallway the goblin stopped and opened a door, barking out a phrase in the tongue of the goblins. It would have been harsh to the ears of other wixen but Harry had heard languages that made ears bleed.

The goblin gestured for Harry to enter the room. As he stepped inside the magic of the rooms reached a fever pitch. The song crescendoed and cut. Sound vanished into silence as Harry looked around the room. Weapons hung on walls alongside paintings of peaceful fields. In the center of the far wall stood a large desk made of a dark wood veined with silver. Behind it sat a goblin with death in its shadow. Literally. Harry could see the elongated form of Angau looming. He frowned and made a slight motion with his fingers, Angau looked over and bared its teeth before stepping out of sight within the wall.

Returning his focus to the goblin before him Harry found himself looking upon a very old figure. The goblin was wrinkled and grey, his skin sagging and eyes heavy with age. Robes of a rich fabric laid upon his diminutive frame while rings resplendent with a vast array of gems glittered on his hands.The goblin smiled a sharp toothed smile and motioned for Harry to sit.

“Well met Heir Potter. I am Diamondfang, manager of the accounts here for our.” here he paused for a moment, “mutual friends. Uthallmo has made certain we would meet.” The goblin leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “Any questions before we begin?”

“Uthallmo? That’s a name for Slytherin’s Monster right?” Harry asked. Amatheon in the same sitting it had spoke of the goblins had explained its own history with the wizarding world. Both Arawn and Amatheon are tied to Hogwarts, bound by magic that Salazar’s silver tongue had pried from Amatheon’s own. Two other gods had been bound with them, but Amatheon had said little on them. It did at least note that for those two animosity came naturally. 

Diamondfang nodded at Harry’s question. “It is indeed. Uthallmo has been part of my people’s history since the sinking of Atlantis. When it came to this land and brought the last dying embers of its Cult.” He picked up a small stack of folders and laid them in front of Harry as he continued. “Each of these folders contain the current portfolios pertaining to all you stand to gain from your blood.”

He flipped open the first folder, “The Noble House of Potter, several million galleons, three properties, and its seat upon the Wizengamot which remains stagnant until you are old enough to claim the Heirship and appoint a Lord Steward.”

The second was opened, “The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, a fortune roughly seven times the size of the House of Potter, four properties of which one lies in London. As well as its seat upon the Wizengamot, which much like Potter remains stagnant until you are old enough to appoint a Lord Steward.”

The third folder was opened, “The Elder House of Peverell. A modest fortune of a few thousand galleon, several books within the vault, one long defunct property, and three lost artifacts.”

The fourth folder was opened, “The Arcane House of Llwyd. Simply a formality, Uthallmo claimed you as distant blood, marking you as a Prince of its House. It means little more beyond opening a few doors that would have been so firmly closed as to not even be there. Uthallmo also granted you the right to make use of the Dragon’s Eyrie in Wales. Unfortunately restrictions not even a god can circumvent mean you will have to wait until you are fifteen or magically emancipated to enter.”

The fifth and final folder was opened. “Basic documentation referring to vaults willed to you by dead lines or elderly wix without heirs, anything Gringotts deemed important enough to hold for you and corresponding miscellaneous data.”

Here Diamondfang picked up a sixth folder, this one slimmer and a little faded. “Now this refers to the order of execution of your parents wills, the naming of the Executor of their Estate, your list of potential caretakers, and the manifest of a vault Lily Potter neé Evans had opened shortly before her death. Everything within she bound with a Curse of Recall, as soon as she passed everything not already within made its way there very quickly.”

Harry blinked for a few moments, and stretched a hesitant hand towards the folders. Diamondfang waved at him to go ahead, and he pulled them closer, one by one.

He had a Noble House…

Of course he already knew this, from the brief notes about a Sacred 28 from Arawn's books which mentioned his name. He looked through the assets, trailing a hand down the properties list. One Manor, in the heart of the Welsh valleys, one in London, a magically altered Muggle apartment near the entrance to St Mungoes, and one in a small English town called Godric's Hollow.

And _several million galleons_. He'd seen the vault, but that was several _million?_ He couldn't quite reconcile the two ideas- the gold in his vault, and the number 3.7 _million_. In the end, he gave up.

He paused, however, on the file for the Moste Ancient and Noble House of Black. "Why do I have access to the House of Black?"

"Ah." Here Diamondfang grinned, his teeth living up to his name perfectly. "There we must skip ahead to the will of your parents."

Harry pushed aside the folders of Potter, Peverell, and Llwyd, to have the folder of Black and his parents wills side by side. Diamondfang flipped through a few sheets of parchment and pointed with a delicate claw. _Custody of Master Harry Potter is to go to his godfather, Sirius Orion Black upon the inability of either Mr. James or Mrs. Lily Potter to care for him._

"Since," Diamondfang said practically, "neither Mr. nor Mrs. Potter is able to care for you, magical legal guardianship goes to Sirius Black. Which makes you his heir, as the last branch of Black following the male line." 

"Right." Harry pulled the Black folder towards him, finding the family tree. At the bottom, below Walburga and Orion, were two names; Regulus Arcturus Black, who had a ghostly pale flower blooming below his name, signifying death, and Sirius Orion Black, who could barely be made out beneath a vicious black mark. Fire.

But he wasn't dead. The damage would have faded, signifying vindication, if he was.

"So,” Harry said eventually. His blood seethed quietly, thinking about the Dursleys. “Where's Sirius?"

Diamondfang was gleeful. "Where indeed."

Harry's eyes narrowed, a soft lull of blood on his ears nudging him gently onwards. He flipped to the front of the Black folder once again, trailing down the list of heirs, dating back to 1547. At the very end, the last five names read "Orion Black (deceased), Sirius Black (disinherited), Regulus Black (deceased), Sirius Black (incarcerated), Harry Potter (current). 

Incarcerated. That meant imprisoned, didn't it? Sirius Black was in prison, and had been since his parents died, otherwise he'd have stayed with him for a little while before moving to the Dursleys. And, as his aunt often liked to complain, that hadn't happened.

Harry silently closed the folder, and pushed that and his parent's will stacked on top to the right. The Potter file will went with it.

"Peverell?"

"Your father was a descendant," Diamondfang waved a withered claw airily. "But he never fulfilled some of the… necessary criteria, and neither did his forebears. The Houses, as such, never merged. Now, however…" His crystal eyes glittered. "You are the one we have been waiting for, Ychydig Meistr."

Diamondfang glanced behind him, almost casual, and turned back with a sharp grin. "When one is close to the Gates of Annwn, one feels Death pull at their soul. You, Heir Potter, were to be the one to find me dead. But your dear friend Angau granted me my dying wish and stretched my death out, so I might meet the one to take this file off my hands." He waved to the open Peverell folder. "And in doing so, met the master of one who would take my life."

Harry shivered, remembering the damning toll of music and wretched sounds from the other side, and the sickly silence they left in their absence. "So the Peverell's have a connection to Angau. Is it the way the Hogwarts founders are linked to the gods?"

"Hmm. You'd know more about the wixen school and it's magic than I. All I can tell you is that the truth of the Peverell's story is in all likelihood lost, and all that remains is a children's tale that has been distorted greatly by time. You will find it, if you look."

He nodded and made a note to ask Arawn about Angau and it's ties to mortals. He wouldn't go trawling through children's stories if he didn't need to, not when he had the King of the Underworld to ask for the truth. 

"Amatheon."

"Uthallmo," Diamondfang corrected. "A god may share a soul with its avatars, but each is still distinctly separate. You must treat them as such. The House of Llwyd," he turned a page, and Harry's tongue instinctively formed the hiss of the odd word as easily as breathing. “Is the house Uthallmo created when it came to the isles. Llwyd predates the line of Pendragon by several thousand years, the oldest vault in the bank belongs to Llwyd. As a Prince of the house, you are given partial access to the vaults, which means you may take copies of the books, and any artifact not bound in place. Of course they will return upon death. Now, as I had noted earlier, you are given the right to make use of the Dragon’s Eyrie by this right, however you cannot access it due to age.”

“Moving on, there is a collection of forty four vaults, totalling 1.2 million galleons, three thousands books, and assorted heirlooms that elderly or childless wixen had willed to you for your achievements.” Diamondfang coughed into his clawed hand.

Harry frowned, puzzled. “Why were these vaults given to me? No one’s supposed to know I’m the Ychydig Meistr.”

Diamondfang chuckled. “Ah. In this talk of magic and gods, you have forgotten your other title.”

“What other title?”

The goblin frowned. “The Boy-Who-Lived.” A beat of silence, and he groaned on seeing Harry’s confusion. “You have not been told. Who was it, who took you from your unlawful guardians?”

“Hagrid.”

“The Headmaster’s devoted,” Diamondfang muttered. “Your school does you a disservice, child. Likely they would keep this from you until directly pressed. These wix,” he gestured to the open file, “give you their inheritance out of _thanks_. To the entire Wizarding World, if not the whole of the Magical Realm of Britain, you are glorified as a hero, because when a Dark Wizard rose, whom no one could defeat, he came to slay you and you _lived_. What’s more, this Dark Wizard has not been seen since. Your Wix were at war, and each side tried to drag us in, and you, Harry Potter, stopped it all when you were simply a babe. The whole Realm has been rejoycing for the past ten years, and every wix knows your name.” Diamondfang leant back in his throne-like chair, clearly satisfied as Harry’s shock. “Deserved or not, when these heirless lines saw the end to their fortune, they would rather pledge it to one they worship than leave it to rot in our caves.”

Harry tilted his head to the side, “Makes sense I think.”

Diamondfang grinned again. “It makes sense to the wix and it keeps the gold moving. That’s all that truly matters with it all.” The old goblin glanced at a set of runes slowly shifting next to him on the desk. “It seems we have run out of time with this. Most of what remains would best be discussed when you are older or a proper individual has taken up your guardianship. Until then however I can say that nothing has disturbed the vaults since they were sealed upon your parents deaths. Without a legally binding guardian, nothing could be accessed.” as Diamondfang organized the folders Harry just barely heard him mutter to himself, “Certainly not without a lack of trying. Dumbledore should have known better.”

Harry stood and brushed off his pants, looking up he found Angau standing once more behind Diamondfang. The old goblin glanced behind himself and smiled grimly. “Off you go, Heir Potter. My time is done. I’d rather you not be the one to have to report my end. Hurry off.”

Harry nodded and turned to leave, feeling an empty silence settle in behind him. He did not stop to look, he kept walking until he was out of the room, until the door was shut behind him. He didn’t slow down until he was almost back to the atrium. Harry laid a hand on a pillar flanking the atrium entrance, closed his eyes, and sent off a silent prayer for the old goblin.

Harry let himself stand still for a little bit longer before he opened his eyes and continued out into Diagon Alley. First stop, Madame Malkin's.


End file.
